


We’ve wandered many a weary foot

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Eve, background Tim/Sasha in part one, covers pre-season one to post-season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Four New Years at the Magnus Institute, London.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 24
Kudos: 288





	We’ve wandered many a weary foot

**Author's Note:**

> _We twa hae run about the braes,_  
>  _and pu’d the gowans fine;_  
>  _But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,_  
>  _sin auld lang syne._  
>  ~ Robert Burns, Auld Lang Syne

**2015/2016**

“You know ‘office holiday party’ doesn’t mean ‘spend the entire evening working while everyone else parties,’ don’t you?”

Jon glanced up from his desk, raising an eyebrow at Tim. “I’m just finishing up a few things I didn’t get to this afternoon.”

“You’ve been down here for an hour! We thought you’d gone home! If Martin hadn’t said something we’d have just left you here.”

Jon glanced at Martin - well, less  _ glance,  _ more  _ glare.  _ Martin ducked his head, shifting to the side to hide more effectively behind Sasha.

“And why did you decide to change that plan?”

“Because we realized you were still here, just being a workaholic like usual? Come on, Jon, it’s a party, and it’s the weekend tomorrow, can’t you take one night off?”

“I’ve just got a couple of things-”

_ “Jon,”  _ Sasha cut him off. “They can wait till Monday. It’s almost midnight, for god's sake.”

He blinked. “Is it?”

_ “Yes.”  _ Tim reached over the desk, grabbing Jon by the shoulder and steering him around toward the door. “So stop doing whatever you’re doing and come up to the main floor with us, or you’ll miss the countdown.”

Sasha grabbed Jon’s other arm as soon as he was close enough, and they started frog-marching him to the stairs out of the Archives. Martin trailed along behind, torn between amusement and guilt over Jon’s continued protests.

“Why is it such a big deal? It’s a new year; it happens  _ every  _ year. It’s not going to  _ stop  _ happening if I stay down here, and my work-”

_ “Will still be here on Monday.”  _ A shove, and Jon was stumbling up the stairs. He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing, but kept walking.

Tim and Sasha didn’t let go until they got him to the main lobby of the Institute. The room was decked out in glitter and lights; paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling and streamers festooned the walls. Rosie’s desk sported a large  _ 2016!  _ banner, and the room was warm with the press of bodies even though someone had opened the main doors to let in some air. Loud music played over speakers set high on the walls.

Jon shook off their hands, giving the bottom of his shirt a tug and straightening his jacket in an attempt to look a little less rumpled. He shot another look at Martin.

“Just had to go and tell them where I went, didn’t you?”

“Sorry.” Martin felt himself flush. “It’s just, you said you’d be five minutes, and then you were gone so long…”

“I got… distracted.” Jon glanced away again, out at the crowd, and Martin didn’t push it. Jon was  _ not _ a party person. The only reason he was here at all was because he had finally given in to weeks of pestering from all three of his assistants, and if he wanted to spend half the evening running away from people, that was his choice.

Sill. It was their first New Year together as a department. It felt too important to let him miss the whole thing.

The music cut out, and Rosie’s voice came over the speakers. “Five minutes to go!” The crowd cheered. Tim, Sasha, and Martin joined in. Jon hunched his shoulders, leaning back toward the wall.

“Got any resolutions?” Sasha had to practically shout to be heard.

“Yeah, get my ears checked!” Tim shouted back, laughing. “I always forget how loud these things get!”

“How about you, Martin?”

“Um.” He hadn’t really thought about it. “I don’t know, get out more? I’ve spent too much time in the basement, I’m starting to forget how normal people live!”

Tim slung an arm around his shoulders, ginning. “I can  _ certainly  _ help you with that, if you’re interested,” he shouted, nearly drowning out Jon’s quiet mumble. “What was that, boss?”

Jon flushed. “I said, there’s nothing wrong with the basement!”

Sasha burst out laughing. “Other than the bad light, poor ventilation, inconsistent heating, and, oh yeah, the mountains of work, sure, maybe you have a point!”

Jon’s flush deepened, and Martin had to pull his eyes away. He’d never seen Jon blush before, and it was a surprisingly good look on him. Not that Martin had spent much time thinking about how Jon looked. Or at all. No,  _ obviously  _ he’d spent time thinking about Jon, they worked together, it was normal, natural, even, to wonder what else would make him blush, and if it looked the same when he was pleased-embarrassed instead of the awkward-embarrassed he was clearly feeling now, and how far the blush stretched under the edge of the tantalizingly open collar of his shirt…

Martin yanked his thoughts back to the present. “What about you, Sasha?”

“I want to learn how to dance!” She did a small twirl on the spot, and Tim clapped. “Proper ballroom dancing, too, not that stuff you do in the clubs!” She elbowed Tim in the side, and he raised a hand to his heart in mock offence.

“I can dance! How dare you imply otherwise!”

“I’d challenge you to prove it, but I doubt there’s room!” Sasha waved at the crowd.

“Later, then!”

“You’re on!”

“One minute everybody!” Rosie’s voice came over the speakers again.

“Last chance, Jon!” Sasha said. “What’s your resolution?”

“Get the Archives in some sort of order!”

“Boring!” Tim rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jon, surely you can come up with something better than that!”

“I don’t particularly feel the need to!” Jon’s voice was laced with annoyance, but Tim just laughed.

_ “Ten!”  _ Martin jumped at the shout from the crowd.

_ “Nine!”  _ He joined in. He could hear Tim and Sasha’s voices overlapping with his, but Jon was suspiciously silent.

_ “Eight!”  _ He glanced over. Yes, Jon was standing with his arms folded over his chest and his mouth closed in a tight line. He didn’t look particularly…  _ upset,  _ or anything, just like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on or what he was supposed to do about it.

_ “Seven!”  _ Martin bumped his shoulder against Jon’s, jerking his thumb out at the crowd, and missed out on the  _ Six!  _ in favor of half-yelling, “Come on, join in!”

_ “Five!”  _ Jon gave him a surprised look, and  _ “Four!”  _ joined the countdown. His voice was very loud, right next to Martin’s ear, and Martin grinned.

_ “Three!”  _ Tim threw one arm around Sasha’s shoulders, and pulled Martin in with the other. Martin, in a fit of daring, reached out to drag Jon in on his other side.

_ “Two!”  _ Jon grunted in surprise, then lifted his arm around Martin in turn. It was very warm, all four of them in a line, arms around each other, and Martin’s face was starting to hurt from smiling.

_ “One! Happy New Year!”  _ The crowd exploded in cheers; various couples seized each other by the shoulders for a kiss; and  _ Auld Lang Syne  _ came on over the speakers. Tim’s arm fell from around Martin’s shoulders, and he glanced over in surprise to see Sasha pulling him into a kiss. Both were grinning.

He glanced to his other side. Jon was still pressed against him, looking out over the crowd with a small smile. His lips were moving slightly, and Martin regretted, for a brief moment, that it wasn’t quieter in the room. He’d never heard Jon sing before, but he was sure it would be beautiful.

Jon noticed he was being watched. He looked at Martin, that smile still lingering. Then his eyes drifted over Martin’s shoulder to Tim and Sasha. He blinked, and flicked his gaze back to Martin. They were very close to each other; Jon flushed again, and Martin could feel his own face starting to flame.

Jon stepped back quickly, dropping his arm as though Martin had burned him.

Martin cleared his throat, though the sound was lost to the crowd. “Happy New Year, Jon.”

“What?” Jon frowned, leaning closer.

“Happy New Year!” Martin repeated, a bit louder.

“Oh!” Jon nodded. “Yes, happy New Year, Martin.”

A tap on his shoulder; Martin looked around. Tim and Sasha pointed, in unison, to the middle of the room. 

“People are clearing a space to dance. We’re going to head over so I can prove my skills to Sasha.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I never said you  _ couldn’t  _ dance.”

“But you  _ did  _ say it wasn’t proper dancing, and therefore I must uphold my honor and prove you wrong. Come: let us waltz.”

Sasha let herself be led away, laughing. Martin looked back at Jon, hopeful.

“Did you want to…?”

“No.” It came out sharp; Jon winced slightly. “I- I should be getting home, actually, it’s, it’s late, and…”

“Right.” Martin would have been offended if Jon didn’t look so embarrassed about the whole thing. “See you Monday?”

“Y-yes, that…” Jon took a breath, squared his shoulders, and looked Martin in the eye. The smile was back. “Thank you, Martin. For talking me into coming. Will you tell Tim and Sasha for me as well?”

“Yeah.” Martin smiled back. “Of course. I’m glad you came, too. I mean- we all are.”

“Right.” Jon lingered for a second, eyes drifting back to the crowd. Then he shook his head, gave Martin one last smile, and headed for the exit.

Martin watched him go, and could see the sudden drain of tension from his shoulders when he finally got through the open doors and into the cool - and marginally quieter - night air. Parties, it seemed, were truly  _ not  _ Jon’s thing, for more reasons than just being an unsocial person. Still, Martin couldn’t help hoping they’d be able to talk Jon into coming again in the future. It was rather nice to see him doing  _ something  _ that wasn’t work.

Then he turned, and made his way onto the dancefloor to join Tim and Sasha in what was definitely  _ not  _ a proper waltz.

**2016/2017**

“I’m leaving.”

Martin jumped. He hadn’t heard Tim approach. “Sorry?”

“I’m leaving. Figured I’d let you know.”

“Oh.” Martin had barely seen Tim all night; he had honestly thought he’d left a long time ago. “Looking for company, or…?”

“Not particularly.” Tim sighed. “Look, I’m sorry to ditch you like this, it’s just…”

“Not much of a party?” Martin forced a smile, and Tim actually laughed.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t even eleven yet, and the Institute party was in full swing. Once again, the front hall was packed with people: dancing, talking, celebrating the end of the year. The Archives… less so. Sasha was off somewhere with her boyfriend; she’d warned them she wouldn’t be coming weeks in advance. Neither she nor Tim had even asked Jon if he was coming. Martin had, and had gotten a snort and a deadpan  _ Do you really need to ask?  _ in response. He half-hoped Jon had plans elsewhere that were keeping him from the party, but had to admit that in all likelihood Jon was locked in his flat, working on whatever mystery he’d brought home for the weekend with just as much frantic energy as he put in over the week. It had honestly even been a surprise that  _ Tim  _ had come, given his general mood in the past weeks.

“Well… have fun, wherever you end up going.”

“Probably home. Maybe a bar. Haven’t decided.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. “You staying?”

“Yeah… yeah, for a bit longer, at least. Don’t know if I’ll make midnight.” Martin had spent the evening drifting from group to group, catching up on all the latest news from people whose lives he knew in intimate detail and who, in turn, barely remembered his name. He was used to it - had spent years, in fact, cultivating his particular place of well-liked but barely-known background figure in the Institute's social life - but it wasn't exactly a terribly fun way to spend the night.

"Well… safe home when you do go." Tim clapped him on the shoulder, already turning for the exit. 

"Yeah… you too." And Tim was gone. Martin sighed, taking a sip of his drink. 

It wasn't like this was really an outlier, as far as holidays parties went. Indeed,  _ last  _ year had been the unusual one, in that he'd actually had a good time. This was just… a return to normalcy. No need for him to be feeling glum over it, even if he  _ had  _ been hopeful, after last year, that things were finally changing. 

Martin managed another half hour before he left. He greeted the new year in his flat, on the couch, with a bottle of cheap wine and a series of texts to Jon, Tim, and Sasha:  _ Happy New Year! _

Sasha responded almost immediately, with a cheerful  _ You too!;  _ Tim's response came in five minutes later, either hurried or tipsy:  _ Heppy new years Matin _

Martin actually smiled at that, and went to bed feeling a little bit better about the whole evening. 

He woke up to a text from Jon, toneless in the way texts always were when the texter treated it like writing an essay, and with a timestamp of three in the morning:  _ Happy New Year. _

Martin decided not to respond, in the hopes that Jon might finally be sleeping and not wanting to wake him with the message notification. 

**2017/2018**

Martin paused on his way back from the bathroom. There was noise coming from the front hall of the Institute: a growing hubbub that drifted up through stairs and corridors to find its way to the normally silent hall outside the Head of the Institute’s office. Interim Head’s. Martin’s. Whatever.

He stepped in the direction of the noise, curiosity and a faint worry pulling him along. Last time he’d heard noise this loud was the screams and yells of the Boneturner’s attack; had something else snuck past Peter’s guard?

Then the faint strains of a melody hit him, and…

_ Maybe it’s much too early in the game, _

_ Oh but I thought I’d ask you just the same… _

Oh. It was New Year’s Eve, wasn’t it? Which meant it was Sunday, too. He hadn’t registered the weekend, let alone the holiday.

Martin stopped moving forward, leaning back against the wall. Now that he knew what to listen for he could hear the murmur of conversation cutting through under the music: muffled laughter and the clink of glasses. He wouldn’t have supposed the party would happen this year, given who was currently running the place; then again, Martin  _ had  _ made a deal with him. Perhaps ‘not harming anyone’ extended to ‘not interfering with parties, even if they make everyone feel happy and connected.’

It was dark where he stood; the air was chilled.

Martin took a deep breath. He’d never missed an Institute New Year’s party, not in all his years of working here. It was a point of pride, almost. Even if he only stayed for half an hour, he’d be there.

Well. All traditions had to end eventually. It wouldn’t have been the same, anyway: he’d gotten spoiled that first year in the Archives, hopes raised too high, and nothing could live up to it since then, not without Sasha, not without Tim, not without-

_ Who’s gonna be the one who holds you tight, _

_ When it’s exactly twelve o’clock at night? _

The breath rushed out in a long sigh, bringing with it a heavy weight that settled over Martin’s shoulders like an old friend.

He’d never actually had a New Year’s kiss. Gotten close with his boyfriend when he was a teenager, but had to head home shortly before midnight because his mum needed him. His boyfriend had understood, of course, but they’d still broken up soon after. Since then… no relationship had really stuck around long enough.

Not that he’d hung his heart on it, or anything. But it was a fun tradition, soft and romantic, and the sort of thing he always started thinking about as the day drew near. He’d been thinking about it a  _ lot  _ last year, he recalled, and the year before that.

_ Maybe I’m crazy to suppose _

_ I’d ever be the one you chose… _

Martin pushed himself away from the wall with a sudden, violent movement. He had work to be getting on with, and while it could technically wait until the Institute opened again on Tuesday, he didn’t particularly feel like pushing his way through the crowd downstairs to get outside.

He shut the door of the office behind himself, blocking out the music and the noise of the crowd.

**2018/2019**

The room was dark, lit only by a small, battery-operated camping lamp in the corner. Martin dozed with his head against the wall, lulled by the quiet and the soft tug of Jon’s fingers running through his hair. He was sitting next to Martin, huddled close on the old breakroom couch, free hand tapping nervously against his leg.

They’d finally reached the Institute the day before. The place felt empty, abandoned; they’d seen no sign of other inhabitants, either friend or foe, and the latent power that had always kept the building humming in watchfulness was gone. Whatever staging ground the Institute had provided before, its purpose was served now.

Even so, it didn’t feel safe to sleep much, with the electricity out and shadows creeping in at every corner. Jon had offered to take first watch.

He shifted suddenly, leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Martin’s. Martin startled slightly, shaking himself a bit more awake before returning the kiss. Jon’s arms wrapped around him, and Martin didn’t bother to pull back, mumbling against his lips, “What was that for?”

“Happy New Year.” Jon kissed him again, then tucked his head into Martin’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Martin thought back; he hadn’t payed attention to the calendar since the world ended, but he supposed it had been approximately long enough to reach the holiday. “Is it midnight, then?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

Jon didn’t bother to respond, but his silence spoke volumes. Martin could practically see the raised eyebrows through the darkness. 

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

Martin smiled. “Happy New Year, then.”

Jon started running his hand through Martin’s hair again. “Got any resolutions?”

“Oh, you know…” Martin chuckled. “Pull the world back from the brink of madness, find and murder our immortal former boss, banish an ancient evil from the world… normal people stuff.”

Jon laughed. “Sounds like a full year.”

“Definitely. You?”

“Hm…” Jon tilted his head back, and Martin took the opportunity to lean in and press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. His breath caught around the next words. “C-can I, ah, borrow yours?”

“Seems a bit lazy.” Martin moved up, trailing kisses along Jon’s jaw before finding his mouth again. “But I think I’ll allow it.”

“Very generous of you.”

Martin settled back down, resting his head against Jon’s chest this time and closing his eyes. Jon’s thumb rubbed small circles into the nape of his neck, and Martin sighed, letting the last bit of tension drain from him.

“Sure you’re okay with first watch?” The words came out a little slurred with tiredness.

“Yes. Go to sleep, Martin. I’ll wake you if anything important happens.”

“Like the New Year.”

He could feel Jon’s chuckle as a low rumble under his ear. “Yeah.”

They fell silent. Martin’s thoughts were warm and fuzzy around the edges, softened by Jon’s hand in his hair and the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was a good New Year, all told, he figured, even though he’d almost forgotten. Definitely top five. Maybe even top two. Kind of hard to beat kissing the man you love, and who loves you in turn.

Martin smiled, and soon after that, he was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from _What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?_ My favorite version is by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfZa0QFmD7c) (song starts at 0:35).


End file.
